One more food post!

Now that most of the snow is gone, it’s fun again to go out and do some shopping. Yesterday, I walked to our weekly outdoor market to get a pheasant. Seen the success I had the last time I prepared it, the ‘Faisan à la Brabançonne’ will also be the main dish of the New Year’s dinner I will be cooking tomorrow.

This morning I took my car – for the first time in more than a week – and drove to our Carrefour supermarket. I invited my mother to come along, as she has been confined to her house since the snow started falling a few days before Christmas. I have been doing her shopping over the last week, but now she had an enormous shopping list of some of the less essential, nevertheless necessary items.

The car park of the supermarket was almost full, but I managed to find a spot for my little car. Which by the way is acting rather strangely since last week. There seems to be something wrong with the automatic gearbox. My friendly mechanic being on vacation, it’ll have to wait another week. I simply hope it won’t break down before, as I have to get back to the office on Tuesday!

After our visit to the supermarket, I needed to go to our ‘patissier’ to pick up the dessert I had ordered on Wednesday. As I couldn’t find a place to park, we drove straight home, where we unloaded the car, before taking off again – on foot this time – to pick up the cake. My mother stayed home to unpack the groceries. By the time I got back, she had poured me an aperitif and laid out some nibbles. While enjoying our drinks, we discussed tomorrow’s menu:

Three home-made appetizers (last week’s ready-made were too awful): smoked salmon roll stuffed with cream cheese and freshly chopped chives, grey shrimps with diced tomatoes, small toast with ham and hardboiled egg.


First course: Carpaccio of fresh figs with a grilled Crottin de Chavignol goat cheese.


Main course: the above mentioned pheasant with braised Belgian endives and ‘croquettes’.


Dessert: the special New Year’s cake coated in vanilla flavoured butter cream.

I also have a bottle of Champagne and a bottle of Côtes-du-Rhône red wine.

In the meantime, I wish you all a very nice New Year’s Eve with friends and/or family. Thank you all for being such loyal readers in 2010.
Hope to ‘see’ you again in 2011! Cheers!

Unexpected souvenir

As you probably know and understand, right now my life is completely evolving around my upcoming move. I therefore completely forgot – well no, not really, but I just didn’t feel up to it – to get out and decorate the artificial Christmas tree I bought three winters ago. I’ve posted about it last year.

Nevertheless, with my mother coming over on Christmas and New Year’s Day, I felt I had to do something to make the place look nice … create the right atmosphere to enjoy the season. I vaguely recalled having a metal-wooden cone-shaped structure somewhere in the cellar. I bought it in the nineties when I was still living in my tiny forth floor apartment with fitted wall-to-wall carpet, unfit to put up a real tree. That is, unless you wanted to have an occasional pine tree needle still stuck between your toes in August!

This year's 'kinky' Christmas tree.
(There are some lights, but they don't show in the photo.)

On Christmas Eve I decided to go to the cellar and look for it. In the ten years I’ve been living in my current apartment I’ve rarely been down there. It’s only a small cubicle, not much larger than a telephone cell. It has several shelves and contains leftovers of the living room tiles and wallpaper, a television table that used to be in my former living room, some cardboard boxes that held my old desktop and monitor and two boxes with old society games and the above-mentioned cone, my letters to my late husband from the time that we were still courting in the seventies and … to my surprise … a bottle of hazelnut oil and four bottles of red – that’s right RED, not rosé, - sparkling wine from the Château de Brézé.

The Château de Brézé is located south of Saumur and is one of the most amazing Loire castles I’ve ever visited. You can read all about it here and here.

It even has the required layer of dust to make it look really 'vintage'.

When I mentioned the wine to my friend, be remembered having tasted it during our first visit of the castle in 2004. We wondered whether it was still good to drink. So yesterday, I took the risk of opening one bottle. It still sparkled and the colour, although slightly darker, was still a warm burgundy red. When I tasted it, it was as delicious has it had been six years ago. I had a second glass later yesterday afternoon as an aperitif … Now it was just a matter of time! How would my stomach and the rest of my body react to this ‘vintage’ wine.

Today, 24 hours after drinking the first glass, I still feel fine … no side-effects, no discomfort. Goes to show that quality always stands out … even after so many years.

A brand-new dishwasher

Despite my passion for cooking, I’ve always dreaded the dishes piling up in the sink. When I was a child, we didn’t have a dishwasher at home. My mother counted on me to give her a hand drying the dishes she had washed. On Sunday, my father used to join us, with him washing and my mother and me drying. It was kind of fun … but by the age of 14 I usually tried to find some excuse to disappear as soon as Sunday lunch was finished …

When I got married in 1980, dishwashers were still a luxury. Personally, I never knew anyone who actually had one. And then, when I moved into my current apartment in 2001 … it came with a built-in dishwasher. I remember telling my landlord that I didn’t need it. But he insisted that I should use it every once in a while to make sure the rubber joints and other bits and pieces wouldn’t deteriorate. And this is how I got ‘hooked’! Today, I can’t even imagine life without a dishwasher! How awful is that!?

So, when I started apartment hunting in July, one of the items on my ‘to have’ list was a dishwasher. I very quickly found out that a majority of the places I visited didn’t have one. But as there were other features that didn’t meet my list of requirements, it didn’t really bother me. Until I visited my new future apartment … It didn’t have a dishwasher! It was one of the first things I mentioned to the agent who showed me around. He mumbled something about the owner being prepared to have one installed, but it was all very vague and it slightly worried me.

During my second visit – two days later – my friend, who in a previous life used to sell kitchens, accompanied me. With the agent he looked at the possibilities. Plugging in the device was no problem, but there was an additonal worry about the required plumbing.

And then, I cheated a little. I said I had a dishwasher and that it would be a shame not to be able to install it. It was only a little white lie, as I do actually have a dishwasher, but I don’t own it! It comes with the current apartment and I am therefore not allowed to take it with me when I move.

The agent promised that he would check with the owner if I could have ‘my’ dishwasher installed at my charge. By then I was ready to buy one. And here comes the good news! When I went to sign the lease on Dec. 13th, I met the new owners. They are a charming couple in their late fifties. She runs a hair salon and he’s retired (I think). We all sat around, with the agent reading the text of the lease and explaining some of the legal details. And then we came to article 20! “The owner will install – at his charge – a new dishwasher before the tenant moves in!”

So there you go; a brand-new dishwasher, and hopefully a more silent one that the current machine, which rumbles and squeaks like an elephant in labour.

That’s already one item I can scratch from my ‘to buy’ list … which, in spite of this bit of luck, remains frightfully long. I would like to go out and look for some new furniture, wallpaper and curtains, but the weather is just too awful to venture out right now. Winter sales start on January 3rd. I hope that by then the snow will be gone, so that I can indulge in a useful shopping spree.

The day after Christmas

Well, here we are. Christmas 2010 is just another souvenir to add to a long list of nice moments!

The weather gods tried to spoil the fun, by sending tons and tons of snow over our little country. It started snowing on Wednesday night. However, the worst snow fell on Thursday night. Since then it has been snowing on and off till this morning. Warmer weather is expected as from Tuesday. Luckily I don’t have to go to work next week.

We didn’t make it to Rob’s Gourmet market on Thursday. I did find a fine Bresse chicken at our local outdoor market though. So the main dish of my Christmas dinner was saved. However, I didn’t get any appetizers or ready-made scallops in Champagne sauce. Finally, I bought some ‘industrial’ appetizers at our Carrefour supermarket. They looked okay, but turned out to be very bland-tasting. Certainly something to avoid buying for New Year’s dinner!

Instead of the scallops I made grilled slices of bread with smoked salmon, creamy scrambled eggs and salmon eggs. Looked and tasted delicious, although it gave me a bit of stress, as scrambled eggs ‘au bain-marie’ require a lot of attention and last minutes stirring. But everything turned out fine.

Of course, you all want to know about the Bresse chicken ‘au vinaigre’. So here’s the recipe. It’s by the famous Michelin stars Chef George Blanc, who has a restaurant in Vonnas (Burgundy).

The Bresse chicken and its 'aromates' happily simmering away!

The ingredients (serves 4):

1 Bresse chicken of about 1800 – 2000 gr. cut into 6 pieces
3 coarsely chopped carrots
1 large onion cut in four
3 cloves of garlic (unpeeled)
5 coarsely chopped shallots
2 large branches of tarragon
1 large tomato, peeled and diced
1 large table spoon of fresh chopped tarragon
10 cl. of tarragon vinegar
20 cl. of chicken broth
20 cl. of liquid cream
1 table spoon of tomato puree
1 table spoon of mustard
2 tea spoons of flour
150 gr. of butter
Salt and pepper

This is what you do:
Melt 100 gr. of butter in a skillet and put in the pieces of chicken. Bake them until they are golden brown on all sides. This takes about 7-10 minutes.

In a cast iron pot, melt the rest of the butter and put in all the vegetables. Stir well until they are nicely coated in butter. When the chicken is ready, put it in the pot with the vegetables and stir well. Add the branches of tarragon too. After 15 minutes, add 75 cl. 7.5 cl. of the tarragon vinegar. Let simmer for about 30 minutes. In the meantime, in a cup, mix the tomato puree, the mustard and the flour. Stir until you obtain a smooth paste.

The tomato-mustard-flour paste and some of the other ingredients.

After half an hour, remove the chicken from the pot and put in on a plate, cover it with aluminium foil and put it in an oven which you’ve preheated to 80°C. Deglaze the cooking liquid with the rest of the vinegar (2.5 cl) and the chicken stock. Let it reduce on very high heat for at least 15 minutes. Next put in the mustard-tomato-flower paste and keep stirring vigorously until it is completely dissolved. Pour the sauce through a fine sieve or ‘chinois’. Add the cream and let reduce even more until you obtain the right consistency. When the sauce is ready, put in the diced tomato and the chopped tarragon. Add pepper and salt to taste.

Take the chicken out of the oven, pour some of the sauce over it and decorate with fresh tarragon leaves. Serve with mashed potatoes or ‘pommes croquettes’ and the rest of the sauce on the side. Bon Appetit!

The next day, re-heat the sauce 'au bain-marie'.

If you have some meat and sauce left, serve it the next day. Re-heat the chicken in the oven at 120°C, covered in aluminium foil and warm up the sauce ‘au bain-marie’. That’s what I did today … and my mother said that it tasted even better than yesterday!

Have a great Christmas Eve and a magical Christmas Day!

We didn't go to Rob's Gourmet Market yesterday as the weather forced us to stay put. We had tons and tons of snow overnight and the roads hadn't been salted. So we simply went to our weekly outdoor market. The regular poultry vendor had lots of special birds for sale. Including the required Bresse chicken for my 'Poulet au vinaigre' recipe'!

So all's well that ends well. Now I have to get into my kitchen and start preparing this exclusive bird. The recipe, and maybe some photos will be the topic of my next post. Must run now ... Season's Greetings to everybody!

P.S. I just noticed that this is my 500th blogpost since May 2009! This really is a festive occasion, isn't it?

Let the fun begin!

Tomorrow is the first day of an almost two week’s vacation before going back to work on Jan. 4rd, 2011.

December 2009:
Christmas decorations at the shopping mall near Rob's Gourmet market.

It’s also time to start thinking about Christmas shopping and cooking a nice Christmas meal. Weather permitting – more snow is predicted overnight – my friend and I will be visiting Rob's Gourmet market in Brussels for some really fine food. It’s a very expensive place, and I only shop there every once in a while. Unlike France, we can’t get special produce at our regular outdoor markets or supermarkets. Rob however carries almost every delicacy you can imagine … up to some very exclusive blue shrimps from Caledonia, Russian caviar, Norwegian lobsters, Can you imagine?

But I don’t want any of those. My menu for Christmas day is:

- An assortment of ready-made small appetizers and a bottle of Champagne
- Grilled scallops in a Champagne sauce (also ready-made and requiring only a short time under the oven grill)
- And … the ‘pièce the résistance’: a real Bresse Chicken ‘au vinaigre’: HOME MADE!!! Using a recipe by the famous Michelin star chef George Vonnas (Burgundy – France)
- A Christmas log (cake) made by our very talented ‘patissier’.

I admit that I’m getting a ‘little help’, but I really want to concentrate on getting the chicken right. Bresse chickens have an AOC label and are considered to be the best and tastiest chickens in the world. I therefore don’t want to spoil it by overcooking the bird or messing up the sauce.

If the weather turns against us there will be a small change of program and menu … but let’s stay optimistic … So check in tomorrow night and see how it turned out!

Blankenberge

Blankenberge is the 'Blackpool' (UK) of the Belgian coast. It's THE most popular seaside resort and the favourite weekend and holiday destination for families with small children and senior citizens.

Those who are planning to spend Christmas there this year will we treated to this unusual view: the sandy beach covered in snow and a freezing cold, opaque sea surface.

Photo: courtesy www.nieuwsblad.be - Kurt Desplenter

Asphyxiated

When I opened the shutters last Friday morning, I saw this:

And I don't mean the orchids!

For the last few weeks a large lorry, probably the same but each week with a different trailer, has been parking itself – with the help of the driver, of course - on the empty parking space along and across our road. As it’s a public space, we can’t do anything about it. And at least the trucker, who probably lives in the area, has the decency to park this mastodon on a spot where it isn’t blocking anybody’s daylight. However, I know that my neighbour across the road, whose daughter has a shop there, is not very happy about it, because it is hard to see the window display from the road and to drive up to the private parking lot which is reserved for the shop’s customers.

Although this is a main road, with a lot of transit traffic, we do live on the edge but still within the residential part of the village and therefore feel that large vehicles like this should park elsewhere; especially as the culprit always arrives late at night, on the eve of the weekend. Nobody ever sees it coming or knows where the driver is going. He usually turns up again very early on Monday morning and disappears before people get up. If it weren’t for its formidable size and 48 to 72 hour presence, you would think it was a phantom truck!

This morning however, the giant was very much alive and kicking when I opened my shutters at 6.15 a.m. In fact, I had been awoken by an unfamiliar rumbling noise. As soon as I looked out of the window I saw what was causing the havoc. The large truck was shaking and smoking while the driver was warming up the engine before taking off to another faraway destination. Yesterday’s snow was piled up against the large wheels and you could see it slowly melting under the warm dark smoke that came out of the exhaust. The driver was nowhere to been seen.

While I was in the bathroom, getting ready to go to work, I could hear the constant rumble of the engine. I even had the impression that the ground was slightly shaking. Not an earthquake-kind of shaking, but a slight vibration that made my toes tingle.

By the time I returned to the living room, the asphyxiating pong of the exhaust fumes had penetrated and invaded the apartment ... and the truck had disappeared. When I got home this evening, the smell was almost gone.

I think I’ll heat up some of the chilli con carne that I made on Friday. I’m sure its tantalizing smell will soon cover up the remaining asphyxiating exhaust fumes!

Some photos …

… to show you what the weather is like today and to tickle your curiosity and imagination.

I slept late today. For several reasons: it was freezing cold outside (no use wasting extra gas heating the place), it was snowing and I had prepared most of our Sunday lunch yesterday afternoon. The wild boar stew with all its ingredients had simmered for over two hours yesterday, the starter was to be a simple grilled Crottin de Chavignol goat’s cheese with vanilla honey and some dried thyme and a side salad with an olive oil dressing, which took about 5 minutes to prepare, and  finally there were some French fries to go with the stew.

At about half past eleven, while I busy in my kitchen, it started snowing … again! Pretty soon, and by the time my mother arrived, there was a nice but sticky layer covering the road.

This is the road I have to brave
tomorrow morning to drive to work.

While I’m typing this, I can see some of you smiling! I admit that to Scandinavian, North American, Canadian and Siberian standards this is just peanuts. But for us, it’s overwhelming and frightening. We just don’t have the necessary equipment to deal with this kind of situations. Winters rarely get this ‘rough’ and we are not really prepared or accustomed to driving in these circumstances.

But I'll stop complaining. We’ll see how it goes, and whether I will be able to make it to the office in the morning.

To tickle your curiosity and imagination, here’s a photo of the yard of our apartment complex.

The first arrow on the left is the window of my current second bedroom, which I use as a store room. The arrow in the middle on the right indicates my new garage (as from March 2011) and the top one on the left points towards my new apartment. You can’t see it in the picture because it’s hidden by my future first floor neighbour’s balcony.

I know, the setting doesn't look very attractive but the apartment is great, I promise you. But the photo just gives you an idea of the ‘importance’ of the move. Still, it requires a lift and three or four strong men. Any volunteers?

Two Santas

Now that things have cooled down a bit in the 'damp problem, apartment hunting and signing the lease' department, I'm feeling slightly lost. Somehow the stress and consequent adrenaline surge seem to have worn off and have also worn me out. Although there is a lot to do – writing Christmas cards, putting up the tree, cooking a wild boar stew for tomorrow’s lunch – I seem to have lost my spunk and energy.

I’m sure it’s just a passing thing. I’ll soon feel better, unless there is a little flu germ lurking somewhere in me system, just waiting for me to give in …

Probably the weather has something to do with it too. It snowed again overnight and more snow is announced for tonight and Sunday night. And on Monday I have to get back to the office. Driving in the snow and on black ice just isn’t my cup of tea!

Just now, while I was in my kitchen unpacking the wild boar meat, I saw this scene from my kitchen window.

Waiting for the bus  ...

A couple – man in a colourful, Bob Marley hat and a woman in a Santa Claus hat – waiting for the bus into town. They are probably on their way to the Christmas market in the biggest nearby town east from here. Seeing them so colourfully dressed cheered me up. So, it’s time to get back into my kitchen and start ‘taming’ this wild pig that is waiting for me!

By the way, there is a second Santa in the picture. Can you see it?

Snow, an e-mail and orchids

It has snowed again. It started last night and by the time I opened the shutters this morning around 8.30, the ground was covered in snow; some 5 to 7 cm of it. Traffic was advancing at walking pace. Luckily I didn’t have to go out – I no longer work on Fridays, remember.

My mother's garden in the snow this afternoon.

I started by checking my e-mails. There was one of my ‘friendly’ janitor. I had mailed her on Wednesday that the new leak detection which had been scheduled for today, had been cancelled due to the weather conditions. I had also slipped in that I would be moving in March and therefore would take no more initiatives to try and find the origin of the leak problem.

Her message put a smile (or rather a smirk) on my face: “I regret, but respect your decision, as I have high hopes of finding the leak presently.” And then she thanked me for my ‘willingness’ in the past and the future. The nerve that woman has! Well, it’s no longer my problem and I will remain available to let new experts in – that is, till the end of March – when and if it suits me. From now on, it’ll be on my terms, not theirs. See, I’m not as nice a person as you all seem to think I am!

This year's first Christmas card.

While I’m typing this, I have a nice pot of chilli con carne simmering on the stove. It’ll be today’s supper. In the meantime, I’m going to do some ironing and prepare my living room for Christmas. By the way, the first card arrived today. From my cousin who always gets my mother’s address and mine mixed up. Since I’ve been living here – ten years – the card for my mother as well as mine always arrive at my address. Although we’ve told him several times, he keeps making the same mistake: year after year. Maybe, now that I’m moving up (the road and to the first floor), he’ll finally get the message.

 

I leave you with a nice (but not very good) photo of one of my orchids blooming, with today’s snow in the background. My friend got me this plant as a Valentine’s present last February. I coaxed it into blooming again for Christmas. Mission accomplished. Out of my five remaining plants (I lost three in last summer’s heat wave) there is yet another one ready to burst into bloom.

Alea iacta est ...

... or as they say in English: "The die has been cast". A registered letter and a phone call (in that order) have finally put an end to a problem that has been haunting me since the autumn of 2009. Although I still will have to live with it for another three months, the damp stain in my rental apartment is no longer my concern.

Last night on my way home from work, I stopped at our local post office and deposited a registered letter addressed to my current landlord, informing him that I wanted to terminate the current lease contract as from Jan. 1st. As soon as I got home, I picked up the phone and called my landlord to tell him about my intentions and the fact that the registered letter was on its way.

With sweaty palms I heard the phone ringing on the other end of the line: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 ... times. "Pick up - Come on, pick up." I whispered. I was afraid that if I didn't get to talk to him now, I might not have the courage to call him again later ...

Finally, some one picked up the phone. It was the landlord's wife. We exchanged the usual "Hi's, Hello's and How are you's." And then I asked to speak to her husband. The plan in my head was very simple: I would come straight to the point and I did. To my utmost surprise he remained very calm. In fact, I even had the impression that he already knew! He immediately asked where I was moving to, and then answered the question himself: “In the building next-door?” This probably meant that someone in the village who had seen me going in there had been blabbing.

In fact, only yesterday my mother ran into a woman who lives in the street that runs parallel to our road and she had immediately asked my mother whether it was I who had rented the deceased neighbour’s first floor apartment. Goes to show that good news travels fast!

But back to my landlord. He started by saying that he was sorry to see me go. And that, although he understood my decision, was worried about what was going to happen to the apartment and whether and when he was going to find a new suitable, trustworthy and decent tenant.

But then he made a capital mistake by explaining that the whole damp problem wasn't his fault and that he had done everything in his power to have it solved. He even went a step further and added that he had recently contacted the janitor, who had told him that SHE (!!!) had found a specialist who 'could see through walls' (those are his words) and who would certainly find the leak. The cheek that woman has!

I bit my tongue and took a deep breath. Firmly, but without raising my voice I told him that I - and not the janitor - had found and contacted this 'superman'. Then I decided that it was time to cut the conversation short. Before hanging up I promised to contact him again in February-March to make the final arrangements and to hand him back the keys. And that was it!

Now I can start concentrating on more pleasant things: choosing a colour-scheme for the new apartment, shopping for some furniture, planning the move and packing my belongings into boxes. There’s also a lot of red tape to take care of: informing the utility companies, the local administation and police, the post office, the tax administration, healthcare and insurance companies, …

But first, I’m giving myself a break. Next weekend I’ll put up the Christmas tree for the last time in my current apartment and then I can start thinking about Christmas and New Year’s lunch and dinner. Oh, I also have to write my Christmas cards and buy some presents. I know there is a certain someone in the US who’s expecting a box of Belgian chocolates!

Signed, sealed and ... almost delivered

This afternoon, at five, I had an appointment at the real estate agent’s office to sign the lease of my new apartment and to meet the owners.

But before telling you how that went, I still need to fill you in on my first and second visit to the apartment and the elements that made me decide that this was the right place for me. Unfortunately, I have other urgent business to attend to right now. It’s past 8 p.m. and I still have to cook and eat dinner …

Let’s just say that the contract is ‘signed and sealed’. Now I still have to 'deliver' a letter to my current landlord … which isn’t the easiest thing to do as I know that I can expect a very angry phone call!

Moving up …

The sudden breakthrough in my apartment hunting saga boils down to this: sadly enough one of my neighbours suddenly passed away. That is why, at first, I felt very uncomfortable about the whole situation.

When my mother told me two weeks ago that her former classmate, who was also our neighbour two doors up the road had passed away, I was shocked. I had known L. rather well. We sometimes, yet purely accidentally met on Saturday morning either at the hairdresser, where she was a weekly client, or on my way down to the village. She used to be an early bird, and after her appointment at the hair salon, she did her weekly shopping. She was always very neatly dressed in a beige raincoat and a little Burberry hat. In summer she used to wear a beige or white skirt and a silk white and navy-blue blouse. Her Burberry shopping trolley was always loaded, with fresh veggies and fruit sticking out at the top. When we met, she was on her way home and me on my way down to the village, we used to stop and exchange a few words.

Only recently we had a somewhat longer conversation about our common neighbours – the door in between – being very negligent about their plastic garbage bags, putting them out too late to be collected during the weekly garbage run, after which the bags remained in the street sometimes for days on end.

L.’s husband died about two years ago. Since then she had been living alone in the apartment where they had lived together for the last twenty years. L. was known as a very tidy and almost too meticulous housewife who kept her home in spic-span condition. Although she looked in good health, she was very sick indeed, needing a blood transfusion every fortnight. About six weeks ago, while being at the hospital for her regular transfusion, she had a stroke which left her partially paralyzed. In view of her precarious condition she was transferred to the palliative care unit where she died two weeks ago.

Although I felt like a vulture, I decided to keep my eyes and ears open about what was to become of the apartment. I talked to my mother about it and we decided we would wait till after the funeral, to seek information about the owners of the apartment and their intentions. The funeral was scheduled on Saturday, Dec. 4th. On Friday, Dec. 3rd when my friend came over, I pointed out the first floor apartment.

To fully understand the situation you should know that the apartment building in which I currently occupy a ground floor apartment is made up of three separate yet adjoining main units: two with six apartments left and right and, in between, one with two apartments. If you’re facing the building, I currently live in the right one. My future apartment is located in the left one, twenty five metres up the road. I could take a photo to explain, but that would be like giving away my address on the internet. Which is not wise at all!

But back to Friday, Dec. 3rd. By the time my friend and I got back from our shopping trip and lunch, there was a ‘to let’ sign on the kitchen window of L.’s former apartment. I was shocked: the poor woman wasn’t even buried! My friend, however, who never knew the lady, was less sentimental about the whole thing, and pointed out that I this was no time to go all mellow. He was right, as always. And so I picked up the phone and called the real estate agent’s number which I had copied from the board on the window. He was in his car and asked me to send him an e-mail with my telephone number. He would contact me as soon as possible to fix an appointment …

And this completes today’s A4 page. I’ll be back tomorrow, with the rest of the story... Sorry, but by now you get the gist of it, don’t you?

Breaking news

I don’t know where to start. That’s probably why I didn’t post yesterday. I still had to ‘digest’ the whole thing. Everything went so fast, that I still can’t believe it myself. Moreover, since Thursday night I’ve been living on a fluffy silver cloud! It’s almost too good to be true and I keep pinching myself to make sure that I’m not dreaming …

Okay, I won’t keep you on tender tenterhooks any longer: I’ve found the perfect apartment and I am moving in March 2011!!! I'm signing the new lease on Monday.

I have to run now, but I'll be back later this afternoon or tomorrow with a full account. That is ... if you're interested to know how I found this little gem on such short notice?!

****

Okay, I'm back! Here goes (well not all of it!)

As you know I have been apartment hunting since last July; when my decorator discovered that the damage caused by the untraceable leak was far worse than expected and that temporary repairs were useless. The ceiling and wall were both saturated with water, and nothing – paper or paint – would stick to the sodden surface.

Moving soon became the only sensible option as nobody (owner, janitor, upstairs neighbour who also had water damage) – except me – was really taking this thing to heart. Moving would have been easy if it hadn’t been for my mother. Mind you, I’m not blaming her, on the contrary. Being 82 and still in rather good health, she nevertheless appreciates the fact to have me close-by. Since 2001 I have been living next-door to her (literally) and moving far away wasn’t an option. Therefore, one of the main criteria – which stopped me from moving in summer – was the proximity. I'm not a mother's child, but I feel that she needs me, and I need her too.

In July I started by visiting a cottage in the grounds of a manor at some 200 metres from my current apartment. The place had been done up recently and certainly had many advantages. However, there was one major inconvenience, that couldn’t be looked over.

Next I went to see a recent and fancy apartment in a quiet neighbourhood. What went wrong? Well it was slightly over my budget, over a mile from my mother’s place and the real estate agent was extremely unpleasant, forcing me to move into the apartment within a fortnight!

A few weeks later I visited two apartments on the same day. The first was fun, but the extra large basement – same size as the whole apartment - and the garden (I needed to invest in a lawnmower) were just a bit too much for me. The second, on the contrary was too small, with a tricky staircase and too far from my mum’s.

Then there was the first floor of a former 1950ties villa which had been done up in 2009. The location was perfect, the place looked neat and practical, but the ground floor tenant wasn’t the kind of guy you want to have around the house when you’re woman and living on your own: loud, drunk, night owl and new noisy girlfriends every weekend. I’m sure you understand what I mean.

Finally, there was a third floor apartment on the village square. Distance: okay! Lift: check! Lay-out: not okay. Too small, too ‘vintage’ bathroom and awful (yet brand-new) colour scheme. I never posted about this one as it was too depressing.

I still had high hopes about my so-called Plan B, which I’ve never revealed because I didn’t want to jinx it. It was in a building still under construction. I had met the real estate agent in July and had told him that I was interested in renting one of the two ground floor apartments. They were ideal: just 150 metres from my current apartment, brand new, one of them has a lovely outdoor terrace and even a small garden. The agent promised me that he would contact me as soon as the apartments were ready and available. However, he said that the rent would be rather steep.

This was Plan B ...
which I had to let go because of too expensive.

And then, two weeks ago the apartment with the terrace and garden was put on the market. When I learned about the rent they were asking, I knew that I could forget my carefully guarded Plan B. This was way above my budget ... and definitely not worth it. I’m curious to see whether they’ll find a ‘pigeon’ who's willing to rent the place (90 m²) at that prize!

Would I ever get out of this place??? And then, exactly two weeks ago, something totally unexpected happened ...

Damp update

It’s been a while since I’ve posted about the damp problem in my apartment. Mainly because there wasn’t much to tell.

Nothing has changed since November 19th. The new leak detection which was scheduled for December 3rd, was cancelled due to the cold weather. Pouring cold water on a frozen roof to find out where it is leaking isn’t such a good idea, is it? So last week we decided to fix a new date: December 17th, which is Friday next week and exactly one year after the very first leak detection attempt should have taken place. But then too, it was cancelled because of the snow!

Since then, three attempts to find the leak have been made: in February, June and September! Each time the result was the same: nothing!

In the past months my feelings about the whole matter have oscillated between curiosity, anger, despair, resignation (yes, even that), fear and powerlessness. And I think that the latter was the worst. As a tenant I’m not in a position to actually take action. The only thing I can do is to wait till the owner or the janitor takes the next initiative. Their inertia has been driving me crazy! If this had been my apartment I’m sure the leak would have been found and fixed a long time ago. Instead I’m still sitting here, with a screen temporarily hiding the worst damage.

But … not for much longer! Because there has been a major development. No, it’s even better than that; it’s a real breakthrough! But more about that tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Saint Petersburg: a city of contrasts – part 1

What happened before …

After spending a fitful night on the train, we arrived in Saint Petersburg. The night had been uneventful, except for some students who were beginning to feel some discomfort (upset tummies) after the chloride tasting water they had drunk with their supper the night before.

We checked into a hotel which to western world standards must have had a ‘minus 4-star' rating. Once again the bed and bathroom linen were clean and fresh, but the furniture and plumbing looked and sounded as if it had been bought and installed in the late thirties.

For the next three days we would be visiting the main tourist attractions of Saint Petersburg: the former Winter Palace (now L’Hermitage museum), the Peter and Paul Fortress and Peterhof, the former tsars’ summer residence on a peninsula in the Finnish Gulf.

The Hermitage hosts an impressive art and artefact collection. Among the over 3 million items are paintings by great masters such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Gainsborough, Picasso, Matisse .... Other parts of the museum are dedicated to oriental art, prints and miniatures, sculptures, arms, etc. I’m sure we only saw one tenth, or even less, as we had only three hours to explore this gigantic palace.

1979 - Saint Petersburg: the Neva River
with in the background the Peter and Paul Fortress.

In the Peter and Paul Fortress, which is built on an island in the Neva River, we visited the prison, where in the beginning of the 20th century the revolutionary and politician Trotsky and the writer Dostoevsky were incarcerated.

One of the most prominent buildings in the grounds is the Peter and Paul Cathedral with its golden spire. It houses the remains of almost all the Russian Emperors and Empresses from Peter the Great to Nicholas II and his family who were finally laid to rest in July 1998. The cathedral has a typical Flemish carillon, a gift of the Flemish city of Mechelen, Flanders. Until today I didn’t know about the origin of the carillon (thank you, Wikipedia!).

Having said that, I think we missed out on a lot of interesting things. We were probably too young and ignorant to appreciate the places we visited and the things we saw for their real value. Or maybe it was because we were so dreadfully hungry and miserable (especially those of us who had an upset tummy!). But then again, like Mark commented yesterday, when you’re ‘a kid’, you can survive on just about anything …

First supper on Russian soil

What happened before …

After our rather unnerving experience with the Russian customs at Moscow airport, we were herded into the arrival hall of the airport, where our Russian guides were waiting for us. The two men, both in their late twenties, spoke excellent French. No Dutch/Flemish though. Or at least, that’s what they said. Later we would find out that they had lied to us, when we caught them laughing at some of the jokes we were telling in out little group of Flemish speaking students.

Outside a bus was waiting and we were taken to a place which looked like a school. In one of the barren halls we were about to savour our first supper on Russian soil. It was served by two buxom ladies who were dressed like nurses, with long white aprons and plastic hairnets. We each received a plate of something that looked like macaroni-and-cheese. Meat came in the shape of the fat greenish-blue flies that were hovering over the plates!

In the middle of the table stood several jugs of water. We were all very thirsty and eagerly filled up our glasses. As soon as I put the glass to my lips, I could smell the strong odour of chloride. I took a small sip, and immediately decided that I’d rather go thirsty than to drink this horrid liquid. Most of my fellow students didn’t seem to mind the pong, and thirstily swallowed several glasses of it.

The monumental hall of Moscow's central station.
Photo: getty images

After the meal, the bus took us to Moscow’s central train station where we were to board a night train to Saint-Petersburg (still called Leningrad in 1979). By the time we arrived at the station, the water most of us had drunk was beginning to show its first effects. Those who had had several glasses went looking for the public bathrooms. They all came back utterly disgusted by what they had experienced. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s simply say that the best way to find the toilets was to follow ... the flies and the smell!

The train carriage was surprisingly clean, though, with freshly made bunks and crispy white sheets and pillow cases. There was a slight, yet not unpleasant smell of detergent and the windows and floor shone. While we were stacking our luggage in the racks over the berths, the train slowly pulled out of the station.

As soon as we had left the suburbs and were driving through open country a steward came into our compartment carrying six large glasses of steaming hot tea. The glasses sat in sterling silver holders. The delicate spoons, engraved with the emblem of the Soviet Union – hammer and sickle – were also made of silver. The tea was strong, yet very sweet and very pleasant indeed. All in all, the train made a nice change from the school where we had had our supper and the sanitary facilities at Moscow station. Maybe this journey wouldn’t be so bad after all!

The same steward also firmly closed the blinds using a special key, making it impossible for us to look outside. We wondered why. During the night, however, we managed to peep out through a small hole on the side of the blind and saw a lot of what looked like military barracks surrounded by high fences of barbed wire and gun turrets manned by armed guards.

Still snowing and comfort food

In the beginning of the week, when the first snowflakes fell, the weather people said that that there would be more snow on Wednesday … and they were right. Here is a photo of the park and the pond around our office building. I shot this photo during Thursday’s lunch break.

A large part of the pond is frozen. The actual water's edge is near the wall in the back.

However, the same people also said that by Saturday – today! – the temperatures would be moving up, above freezing point. And that by Sunday all the snow would be gone. I agree that predicting the weather can be a very tricky business. However, this time they really made a mess of it! It’s Saturday, still freezing and still snowing. With a blistering cold wind from the South – yes, that’s right, the South – and day temperatures still below 0°C. And the forecast? More snow and some ice-cold rain on a frozen soil! Black ice guaranteed for Monday when I have to get back to work!

This morning I ventured out to do some last minute shopping for my traditional Sunday lunch. I did most of the ‘heavy’ shopping on Friday with my friend, who has a sturdy car and snow tires. The car park at the supermarket was covered in snow and people had parked just anywhere as the lines indicating the individual parking places were invisible.

This afternoon I stayed in, cooking! I made a nice soup and pre-cooked some organically grown broccoli to go with the roast beef I bought this morning. Next I made a dessert: a vanilla pannacotta, which I will be serving with fresh raspberries.

In case you’re interested, here’s the recipe. It’s dead easy.

The ingredients (serves four)

500 ml of cream (min. 33% fat content)

60 gr. of sugar

1 vanilla pod

2 leaves of gelatine or agar-agar powder

125 gr. of raspberries

This is what you do:

Pour the cream in a cooking pan. Split the vanilla pod length-wise and scrape out the seeds and add them to the cream. You can also put the empty vanilla pod in for extra flavour. Add the sugar and bring to a boil. Stir regularly. As soon as the cream is boiling, turn down the heat and let the cream gently simmer for 10 minutes. In the meantime soak the gelatine in a large bowl of cold water.

After ten minutes remove the cream from the fire and let it cool down for another ten minutes. Don’t forget to stir! Next, put in the gelatine leaves which by now are soft, stir well until they have completely dissolved.

Rinse four ramekins in cold water and pour in the cream mixture. Don’t dry the ramekins before pouring in the cream. Put in the fridge for at least four hours. Overnight is even better.

To serve, pass a fine knife between the cream and the edge of the ramekin. And serve the pannacotta on a plate with the fresh rapsberries. Don’t forget to dust it with some powder sugar … so that it looks as if some snow fell on it. D-xxx, more snow!!

A bizarre welcome

What happened before …

On our arrival at Moscow airport in July 1979 we picked up our luggage, after which we were immediately ushered into the customs zone. As predicted, the customs officers made a big show, thoroughly searching every single piece of luggage. We also were instructed to open our hand luggage and to empty our pockets. In those days it was illegal to bring Russian ‘rouble’ into the country. The reason for this is obvious when you know that, in those days, a rouble was five times more expensive in its home country than it was abroad.

Moscow's current international airport: Domodedovo.

Photo: http://www.airportdesk.nl/  

Apparently all members of our party had respected this rule, or had cleverly hidden the banknotes elsewhere. When it was my turn to open my suitcase, the customs officer rummaged through my clothes, turning everything upside down. He grabbed the hairspray that was at the bottom of the case, opened it and sprayed some of the product into the air. Then he looked at me and asked me a question. Well, I suppose it was a question, as I didn’t understand a word of it. This sentence had not been part of the crash course my fiancé had given me.

Completely lost, I wanted to turn to my finacé for help as he had been right behind me in the queue. But when I turned around he was gone. He had been directed into a parallel queue where another customs officer was going through his luggage. By then ‘my guy’ was getting tired of waiting and he repeated his initial question. This time his tone was not as kind as it had been before. I smiled; shrugged my shoulders and said (in English): “Sorry, I don’t understand you.” This seemed to annoy him immensely, and he repeated his question once again. By then he was definitely shouting. I saw no other option than to test my limited knowledge of the Russian language and said (in Russian this time): “I don’t speak Russian.”

I might as well have waved a piece of red cloth in front of a bull! The guy went completely berserk, repeating the same question over and over again in a shrill voice. Maybe he thought that I was taken the micky pretending not to understand him as my Russian accent was 'too perfect' (ahum), or maybe my accent was so lousy that it sounded like an insult! You knows?! Luckily I was saved by one of our Russian professors who explained that what the man was holding in his hand was a simple bottle of hair spray and not some kind of lethal toxic gas!

While I was putting the contents of my suitcase back together, the professor was called away to deal with other emergencies; some of which turned out to be much more serious than my little hair spray incident. For instance: One of our fellow students had had the brilliant idea to put a dozen of Russian bibles in his suitcase … probably in an attempt to re-introduce Christianity in this ‘godforsaken’ part of the world (just for the record, this was in 1979). With the help of the professor the student got off the hook. However, the bibles were confiscated and the poor, helpful professor paid the price! His suitcase was emptied on the counter, and every single item was examined in detail. They emptied his tooth paste, took his electric razor apart, etc. But the worst was yet to come … He was taken apart in a small side room where he was given a full body search!

From Russia, with love

During my college training to become a translator I met a fellow student who later, in 1980, would become my husband. While I was taking English and Italian classes, he launched himself into English and … Russian.

Each year our college used to organize short ‘field trips’ abroad to give us the opportunity to test our newly acquired language skills on native speakers in real life situations. These little outings were only open to students of the corresponding language groups. In my first year I visited Florence, Siena and San Gimignano in Tuscany. In the second year I went to London. These short city trips (3, maximum 4 days) were organized every year. Russia, however, was quite a different matter. Because of the distance and the red tape it involved the Russian field trip was a four-yearly event, giving Russian students the opportunity to visit Russia at least once during their four year training program.

And there were yet two other elements which made this trip special. First, it included a two weeks tour of several Russian cities, plus it was open to students from other language groups. The Russian language group being the smallest student population (with hardly 20 students) it was imperative to find other participants. Otherwise the cost per person would be too important.

It took some coaxing to convince my father to let me go on this expedition with my fiancé, but in the end he gave in and we started making the necessary arrangements. These included a.o. getting a passport and a visa. The visa was organized by one of the college professors who had been to Russia before and was familiar with the procedures.

You can't go to Russia without getting some of these!

My fiancé also gave me a crash course in Russian. As I was unfamiliar with the characters of the Cyrillic alphabet he made me repeat several sentences over and over again until they stuck to my brain like glue. Even today, thirty years later, I still know how to say “How do you.” – “Very well, thank you” – “My name is …” and “I don’t speak Russian.” in Russian. Later, ‘in the field’, learning and using this last sentence turned out to be a mistake. But I’ll tell you about that later.

And so, one nice day in July 1979, our mixed (French and Dutch speaking) group of 40 students and three professors took a Sabena plane with destination Warsaw, where we spent an hour in the transit zone before flying to our final destination: Moscow. Everybody was very excited, curious and … nervous. We had been warned about the Soviet customs officers, who apparently had few scruples when it came to searching your luggage for ‘illegal’ objects … This turned out to be a massive understatement ...